Suffer the Night
by Katana Sundancer
Summary: What thoughts ran through people's minds that cold night Han and Luke were lost on Hoth?


**Suffer the Night**

Leia Organa drifted aimlessly through the hangar, unable to make herself leave. The shield doors had been closed hours before, and still she remained, with nothing to do but worry and wonder.

Rattles and crashes, seeming softer than usual despite being as loud as ever, echoed from the Millennium Falcon, where Chewbacca dealt with the interminable waiting in his own way. Perhaps the sound wasn't right because there was no Corellian counterpoint to it, barking orders or cracking jokes.

The rest of the hangar was not quiet, as it should have been in the middle of the night. Instead it was stirred by the whir of machinery, the clanking and ticking of tools and voices, sometimes raised in sharp invective, others just a hum and murmur in the background. She stopped to watch the activity, taking a seat on a nearby crate.

The moment Captain Antilles had heard the news, he'd wrangled together Rogue Squadron and every mechanic he could find, and set them to work converting the air speeders for the insufferable cold. Men and women of varying species crawled all over the vehicles with single-minded purpose that Leia could only be grateful for. She envied them their meaningful tasks, while she floated around, as useful as teats on a nerf bull.

"Princess?" She turned, startled, to find Lieutenant Klivian standing by her shoulder, a heavy tray laden with caf and pastries in his hands. His long face showed concern and worry. "Are you alright?"

Leia barely managed a weak smile. "As alright as I can get right now." She nodded towards the tray. "I see you got pressed into catering duty."

"Yeah, well – someone has to get the fuel to keep us at it." He looked at her, eyes intense. "We are going to have these speeders done by morning. We will find them, Princess." Determination spoke in his every word, in his very features.

Leia felt her heart constrict and lighten all at once. The utter loyalty in this man – in all these men and women – was nothing less than inspiring – and everything that Han and Luke deserved. Hobbie's resolve strengthened her own. "I believe you, Lieutenant," she said softly. "Here, let me take that tray. I'll handle the catering now."

He looked vaguely bewildered as he handed it over. "If you're sure…"

"You have an important job – getting these vehicles ready. I can't do that. I can't rescue my friends the way they rescued me." Her words were a soft impassioned plea. "Let me help the only way I can."

Hobbie smiled kindly, understanding and sympathy almost flowing off him. "Right this way, Leia." He led her over to where the real work was being done. "Looky here, folks. We've got ourselves a royal gopher!" 

swswsw 

Wedge Antilles, covered in sweat and grease hauled himself out of the engine he'd been working on. He turned to look at the nearest pilot. "Done. How many does that make?"

Lieutenant Janson did a quick count. "All but Three, Four and Nine. Three's well on the way, Dack's scrounging more nozzles for Nine but Four looks to be a write-off. There's not a chance we'll get it converted in time.

Wedge dropped to the icy hangar floor, then straightened with a scowl. "Not good enough," he ground out. "Every last one of these speeders is to be in the air the moment those shield doors are open, is that clear?"

"Wedge-"

"Is that clear, Lieutenant?" he thundered, getting some startled glances from the other pilots and workers.

Wes' face set into tight lines. "Perfectly, _Captain_." He stepped in close and gripped Wedge's forearm tight enough to hurt. "Let me make something clear to _you_, Antilles. Every single person here in this hangar is busting their guts to get these Sith-spawned machines ready. And when we Rogues jump in them and fly off, the mechanics will keep working on those we didn't finish. And Princess Leia, along with a dozen others, is going to wish fervently that she could search with us – that she could help save them." The lieutenant's brows furrowed together over unusually intense eyes. "You're not the only one feeling this, Wedge."

The Corellian felt shame well up within him, and he reached up to grip his friend's arm. "Sorry, Wes," he murmured. "I just – Luke would do it for any one of us – Han _is_ doing it for one of us. I can't let them down."

"You won't." Wes clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you're feeling the pressure of being XO – that you hate having responsibility for the squadron now. You're doing great – except for yelling at subordinates who don't deserve it."

Wedge managed a grin. "Oh, you always deserve to be yelled at – just not for that." He turned back towards the speeders, feeling gratitude, admiration and renewed determination. "Come on, Janson. We've still got a few hours. Let's see if we can't teach Four the error of its ways." 

swswsw 

Han Solo wasn't sure which worried him more – Luke's restless delirious mumblings about Old Ben and 'Yodago' or whatever it was he was trying to say – or the ominous silent stillness he'd fallen into once Han had got him out of his tauntaun sleeping bag and into the shelter.

"Hell, kid," he muttered, dropping a gentle hand onto Luke's forehead. "Why is it always you, huh?" He paused – _as if the kid could answer him_. "Oh right. You're a Jedi – it's the Will of the Force that shavit happens to you. It's in the Code or something. May I point out that being taken out by a giant hungry rug is _not_ the way to go?"

The smuggler shivered and hunkered down in his thermal blanket. Despite the flippancy of his words and tone, Han winced as he studied the wounds etched across Luke's young face. There was little to be done for him – Han didn't dare apply any pressure or other first aid, not with obviously broken bones under the torn flesh. Now that the kid was warming up, blood was slowly welling, oozing from the gashes.

Han grumbled incoherently to himself. The cold that had been killing the young Jedi had also slowed his blood loss. _'Kriffing typical'_, he thought sourly. '_The good is bad and the bad is good._' He checked Luke's pulse yet again – reassuring himself that his charge hadn't slipped away on him in the last few minutes. Compulsive checking for signs of life was becoming a habit.

"There's only half the night to go," he told Luke. "And it's going to feel like years." 

swswsw 

"Commander Skywalker, do you copy?"

Hobbie Klivian guided his speeder carefully over the snow fields, splitting his attention between his viewport and his sensors. Despite having had no sleep and a lot of work the previous night, he was superalert – nerves firing, tensely waiting for some flash of movement – some flash of life.

"Captain Solo, this is Rogue Four. Do you copy?"

Hobbie was no fool – he knew that the chances of two men surviving a bitter night outside on Hoth were slimmer than a Hutt's leavings. And Luke's situation would be far more dire than Han's, for the simple fact that he'd been out longer.

"Commander Skywalker, do you copy?"

His infinitely logical, cursedly imaginative mind kept offering up the worst possible scenarios for his attention – why Luke had gone missing in the first place; the chances that the commander had been dead before Han had even roared out on his tauntaun; the fact that whatever had happened to Luke had also taken out Han –

"This is Rogue Four, calling Commander Skywalker and Captain Solo. Do you copy?"

But Hobbie clung fiercely to his hope. Just because he always saw how bad thing could get, that didn't mean he couldn't find the good and the wonderful too. He had to see it, had to hold onto it – or his pessimism would run him down. The good and great is what they were all fighting for, even if they themselves would never truly know it.

"Commander Skywalker, do you copy? Luke, can you hear me?"

Luke, as a Jedi, placed his faith and his fate in the Force; he'd just have to do the same. As for Han and what he put faith in – well, Hobbie _was_ wearing his blaster.

Zev Senesca's voice crackled from the comm system. "Echo Base, this is Rogue Two. I've found them. Repeat, I've found them."

Hobbie slumped with relief. Just like that, a cold, dark dreary night was replaced with a bright sunny morning – though still ridiculously cold. He chalked up a win for optimism, and swung his speeder around for home. 

swswsw 


End file.
